With Cruel Intent (5 page)

it was the ‘Clueless Wonder’ sharing the

bathroom with her on the second floor.

Without fail, every morning just as it was

her turn for the facility, he would charge

down the hall, shaving kit, towel and

magazine in hand, rushing into the loo and

setting up camp for the next 45 minutes.

Blanche had taken to showering at night

and wearing her hair up to work so she

didn’t have to worry about the time it

would take in the morning.

Standing in front of the mirror,

Blanche ran her fingers through her

strawberry-blonde mane, gently working

out the snarls. In no time, the brush slid

easily from root to tip. Winding a red, silk

scarf among the threads of her hair she

quickly manipulated her locks into an

impressive updo. Satisfied with her

handiwork, she inspected her five and a

half foot frame in the long mirror.

Freckles, lightly sprinkled across her

nose, highlighted her beautiful face and

soft complexion. Tan lines strategically

marked her most delicate features. Miles

across the desert floor were visible in

every line, sinew and muscle insertion

from her ankles to lower back. She held

her shoulders square, trying always to

follow the advice of her mother, “Don’t

slouch dear, no need to hide what God

gave you.” Over the years Blanche had

taken special precautions to keep her back

muscles in top form. Images of her breasts

hanging to her waist had been the source

of great motivation and she daily

stretched, lifted weights and did push-ups

in an attempt to deny gravity the win.

No

doubt

Blanche

was

a

remarkably beautiful woman but her most

striking feature was her eyes. They were

absolutely crystal blue, like glacier water

reflecting sunlight, changing color relative

to her surroundings. An overly large iris

diameter and wide lid fissure presented

these sapphire gems for the world to

behold. It was not unusual for complete

strangers to stop Blanche and ask where

she got her contacts, commenting on how

beautiful they were.

“No way!” was often the response

when Blanche indicated that they were all

natural, and that went for all of her as

questioning eyes were often drawn to her

bustline as well.

With so much going for Blanche

she still found it difficult to believe that

men found her attractive. There was

always something lacking perfection that

drew her self-confidence and assurance

askew. She was happy with who she was

and what she looked like but had no

intention of flaunting herself for anyone's

benefit.

Satisfied that all was in order for

another day of work she put on her most

conservative, bust reducing bra, beige

slacks and modest cotton blouse and

headed down the stairs for breakfast with

her host and other guests.

“Good morning dear, did you

sleep well?” Ms. Carmichael greeted her

as she moved between the kitchen and

dining area as if on roller skates. “I trust

you are finding the accommodations to

your liking.”

“The

room

is

fine,

Ms.

Carmichael, the bed is actually really cozy

and the pillows must be down. Is that

right?” Blanche questioned, trying to keep

the conversation going.

“Why yes they are. Not many

guests mention that, so nice of you to

notice. I’ve always tried to provide only

the very best you know. What would you

like this morning? Got some grits a

cookin’ if you like or there’s fresh fruit

and yogurt on the table.”

“I’ll be fine with the fruit, thank

you.”

A handful of guests were huddled

around the table each with a newspaper in

hand and talking back and forth,

apparently about a particular article that

had caught their attention.

“Can you imagine waking up like

that?” Mrs. Muir said, sipping her coffee

and pointing to a picture and article on the

front page of the Valdosta Daily Times.

”She must have crapped herself,”

‘Mr. Wonder’ eloquently pronounced.

“Really must have been an eye opener for

sure,” he continued.

“What’s going on?” Blanche

questioned.

“You haven’t heard?” Mrs. Muir

inquired.

“No, what’s up?”

“Well, you won’t believe this but

the headline this morning is about some

nut job that snuck into this ladies house,”

pointing at the cover picture, “put on her

undergarments while she was asleep then

took a picture of himself and left it on the

pillow next to her. Is that creepy or what?

Just gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Now Mrs. Muir, don’t go scaring

Ms. Delaney, after all she’s single as

well,” cautioned Caroline.

“Guy must have balls of steel,”

concluded ‘Clueless’, “He’s just asking to

get caught leaving behind a picture and

all. Bet the police have him by the end of

the day.”

“You

certainly

have

more

confidence in the constabulary than most

of the locals,” Caroline asserted.

Blanche took a seat and pulled a

copy of the Times within range for her

inspection. Sure enough, there on the

cover was a picture of Mrs. Thelma

Riddle of Valdosta, GA holding a picture

of some guy with his face obscured,

wearing a pair of her panties and bra,

standing in a bedroom with a sleeping

Thelma in the background. He’d obviously

not used a flash in an attempt not to

awaken the slumbering woman but the

quality was good enough to make out what

was going on. Between bites of fruit and

gulps of juice Blanche read the police

report describing the scene upon their

arrival in the early morning hours.

They had been called, responding

to a hysterical woman’s 911 report of a

home invasion on Cat Creek Road. Two

squad cars had arrived at approximately

5:30 a.m. to find Mrs. Riddle on the front

step, shotgun lying loosely across her lap,

head in her hands apparently sobbing. The

officers led Mrs. Riddle to one of their

units, assured her of her safety, and then

entered the premises. They found nothing

out of the ordinary, no indication of a

break and enter. Locks all appeared to be

intact, windows all closed with no

breakage and no sign of forced entry.

Once the scene was secure they

interviewed Thelma who reported, “I

always have to get up about four or five

o’clock to go pee but this morning when I

went back to bed there was this picture on

my pillow.”

The officers reported that she was

still shaking from the ordeal and would be

staying with friends for the next few days.

The paper went on to detail that nothing in

the home appeared to be tampered with

other than a few of her drawers and

clothing. How the perpetrator managed to

gain entrance to the home was still under

investigation but they believed a door may

have been left unlocked. No further

information was available at the time the

paper was published.

The small talk continued another

15 minutes before the guests got up to

begin their day.

Caroline hurried into the room.

“Listen ya’ll,” she said, in her best

Southern accent. “We’ll be welcoming a

young couple later today celebrating their

wedding and spending a few days of their

honeymoon with us. I’d sure appreciate it

if ya’ll would be extra nice to them while

they’re here.”

Blanche tossed in a cheerful,

“Sure,” as she sidestepped ‘Clueless’,

controlling the urge to plant an elbow in

his ribs; then skipped up the stairs to brush

her teeth, grab her umbrella and head to

the bus stop.

Tonight would be her first late

shift and she wanted to get a few things

done before having to check in at the

library by noon.

Over the past couple days she’d

spent her spare time looking through the

paper and online at condo listings hoping

to find something small, affordable and

now more than ever, safe! Blanche was

quite pleased with the modest nest egg

resting in her Georgia Trust Bank

Account.

Not

enough

for

anything

extravagant by any means but nonetheless

would hold her over in an emergency or

make a nice little down payment on a

small home or condo. The idea of a condo

was appealing, no maintenance, no yard to

mow and neighbors close by. From prior

experience Blanche had learned that

having neighbors nearby could be a

double-edged sword. There’s always the

jerk with the music too loud, the parties

too often, the shirts unbuttoned to the navel

with the gold chains and beer gut.

Blanche had often thought to

herself when confronted with these brutes,

“Are there really women out there that

find you attractive, and if there are then

God help us.”

Her last residence in Arizona had

been a condo unlike any other she’d lived

in before. The people were respectful,

hard working, quiet and for the most part

stayed to themselves, but were always

pleasant

when

opportunities

for

interaction arose. On the other hand, she

had lived in units where everyone knew or

wanted to know everyone else’s business

with a peeping tom thrown in for good

measure. The last thing she wanted to do

here in Valdosta was buy something

before knowing all the facts. Like she’d

heard a hundred times, location, location,

location and being new to town she

needed some help.

On this particular morning she had

made an appointment with Beverly Davis

of Southern States Realty. Her ad had

been prominently displayed along with

many others in the local paper but there

was something about her smile that

prompted Blanche to phone her. A five-

minute conversation left Blanche with the

following observations; Beverly was

Southern, through and through, with a thick

accent and an immediate distrust of

Yankees. She was quite pleased to see

that her latest client was from the West

and not a Northerner. The realtor was

anything

but

soft

spoken,

their

conversation could have been heard at

least one county over and Ms. Davis’

laugh began at her toes and worked up

volume as it traveled upward. Blanche

was pleased to discover that Beverly was

a seasoned professional, appeared to

know the area well and had the time to

show her the town.

The meeting was scheduled at

10:00 a.m. with the office located not far

from the library. Blanche arrived a few

minutes early to make a positive

impression and sat in the waiting room

while the receptionist called Ms. Davis.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if Harvey

says that property line is wrong or not, we

had a surveyor out there last week to

confirm that he’s squatin’ on my client’s

property and he better get his act together

or we’ll move our litigation forward!” A

woman’s voice echoed down the narrow

hallway promptly followed by a phone

being slammed down on a cradle.

“What is it?” again from the back

room as the receptionist made contact

with the unmistakable Beverly in the rear

office.

“Your ten o'clock is here.”

Then a more subdued voice, “I’ll

be right out."

A moment later a woman who

appeared to be in her late forties, short

and thick, came walking briskly down the

hallway, black curly locks swaying from

side to side and the distinct sound of nylon